Denial
by L.Finnegan
Summary: George begins to feel depressed because of Fred's newfound shame for him. George remembers a song that Fred used to sing him. Yeah, I wrote the song...the whole version isn't in here. Twincest, PG-13 for fact of incest, I'd like reviews.


  
**By: Laina Finnegan**   


Denial

  
  


------

  
  
"It's our last year!" Fred chanted as he trotted alongside our younger brother, Ron Weasley. "No more essays, no more detention, no more Snape!" He continued to rub it in our siblings' faces. I couldn't do as much as grin. I had only so long to tell him until we went our separate ways. How could I, though? How could I?   
  
We all strolled casually onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters. We had only ten minutes to get situated on the train – I guess a sort of tradition. We were always that early. Normally, though, I would go and join my twin brother and our best friend, Lee Jordan. This was not a normal day. It wasn't even a normal year. I chose to sit alone – six rows up from my former companions. I gently crushed my head against the glass window, noting the tender rain wash down it as I closed my eyes. And so goes my first lonely year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. My last year at Hogwarts. How depressing.   
  
A hand was placed on my shoulder, shaking softly. "Son, son," said a woman's voice. I opened my eyes. It was the plump witch that always passed out snacks to paying customers. "Only fifteen minutes until arrival – you may want to stay awake," she advised. She was always kind and good-natured to us Gryffindors. I nodded.   
  
"Thank you, ma'am," I said as she pushed the cart along the anxious first years. I slouched in my seat in an utter daze.   
  
I don't know when it happened. I can't say why it happened, as I do not know. Of course, I knew I was homosexual – anyone could figure that out, but when did this spell come over me? When did I feel more loving than I should toward my brother? Why me? I raked my fiery red hair back as I pondered sleepily on the matter.   
  
The locomotive came to a complete halt. I didn't even notice until I saw Lee and Fred laughing and joking out the exit. I stalked his freckled face with my eyes until we were out of the horseless carriage, filled with forth and seventh years. Around the stairs and columns, the entrance to the castle – our school, Lee noticed my trance. I kicked a small, silvery stone around the mud sheepishly, avoiding his strangling looks. Moments later, I shot a glance at the two of them. They cast their looks downward, shaking their heads in disgust. Lee's dreads continued to move stiffly, darkening from the rain, while Fred looked up, annoyed at my starry blue eyes. Fred was ashamed of me. Ashamed of his own brother's admiring looks in his direction. Yet, somehow, I wasn't exactly surprised. I tossed my lengthy, wet hair back from my eyes and stomped angrily yet gently into the Great Hall.   
  
One of my many bad habits is that I eat like mad when I'm hyped up, angry, or nervous. At that moment, I was a melody of all three. I ate three chicken breasts and various large portions of vegetables and breads. I smuggled a raspberry pastry to the Gryffindor Boys' Dorm. No time for the silly school song. Just time for me. Me and my shadow.   
  
Lightening reflected from the walls and I ducked under my protective quilt – hand made last summer. Fred would remember – mum had punished us by forcing us learn to sew. I wasn't very good at it, as anyone could tell just by looking at my patch – a blob of green, red, and brown trying to be a tree. He, however, had taken to it very well – evident with his patch. It was two freckled, smiling redheaded boys. He said it was us. It _was_ us. Until now. We'd changed so much since then. Since he finished the blanket and gifted me with it on our birthday that year. I smashed my eyelids together.   
  
The lightening may have been invisible, but the thunder was loud as ever, muffled slightly by the quilt. It all reminded me of ages ago. We were small, I was helpless. He was always braver than me.   
  
He protected me, wiped my face from all its teary wetness. He moved the hair from my face as one of my worst phobias went on outside. Through the dashes of thunder and lightening, he sang a song he'd made up. What did he mean by it?   
  
I began to sing it, strong at first, but my voice cracked toward the end. Slow tears crept down to my clothed lap as I recited the final lines, holding the quilt tightly   
  


_I sit around and wait a while   
You always run the extra mile   
Whilst you dream, you always smile  
And I'm afraid of your denial _

  
  


------

  
  



End file.
